


A Pothole of Rain

by yumi_michiyo



Series: The Nighthawks [3]
Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: "Romance", Elsa has more issues than a newsstand, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, POV First Person, deliberate vagueness, reference to past relationships, some strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumi_michiyo/pseuds/yumi_michiyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa thinks and thinks and thinks a little too much. First-person POV again. Set during the events of <em>The Nighthawks</em>. Unbeta'ed for maximum effect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pothole of Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Last night, you said  
> you wanted to find the real me,
> 
> but you look with your hands  
> and your mouth  
> and don't find anything there.
> 
> You look for me  
> in all the wrong places.
> 
> This body is just a tangle.  
> It is just a snare. I am caught  
> and must write myself out  
> of this snarl of limbs  
> and into something  
> that can contain me.
> 
>  
> 
> [_Where You Will Find Me_ – Gabriel Gadfly](http://gabrielgadfly.com/poetry/where-you-will-find-me/)

I'm scared.

I'm scared I'll hurt her because I hurt everything I love.

I don't know if I love her.

She's sleeping beside me, warm and satiated and happy, and her arms are around me, but it's cold inside.

I miss Belle.

I miss the me that was happy, and didn't see life in ugly and crooked angles. She smiled on both the inside and the outside.

Thinking hurts, especially when I'm not making any sense. I turn in Anna's arms and plant a kiss on her forehead. She smiles in her sleep – such a pleasant, uncomplicated expression – and her arms tighten around my waist. Overflowing emotion tightens my chest. It's different from with Belle, but it's a good different. With Anna, things aren't rose-tinted but real; the edges of reality are defined, not threatening. She makes me see everything as it is and gives me the strength to do so, and I'm grateful for that.

Before I met Anna, I was just… lost. She taught me how to give voice to the storm inside. She knocked on my door and eventually I opened it; let her into the chaos of the mind that I'm still learning to describe.

There's this little box that I've lost the key to, though. It contains everything to do with Belle.

Anna asked me about her last night. It was a good conversation – we were talking about my patrons, and I was telling her how Belle patched me up after I came out of the wrong end of a barfight – and she asked me, totally innocently, what Belle was like.

I think I must have panicked, and it showed in my face, because Anna's expression changed from curious to horrified, and she flung her arms around my neck, babbling about what an insensitive idiot she was, and it was okay if I didn't want to talk about it, and she was _so_ sorry for bringing it up –

– and the rest I missed, because I kissed her to short-circuit her brain functions (what she very euphemistically and happily calls my method of distraction), and we ended up… well.

Which brings me to right now. I woke up a few minutes ago with Anna wrapped around me, and in the dark without her light, I couldn't stop the thoughts from coming back. There's only so far I can run away with her.

Pressing my face into the crook of her neck, I let my mind go blank as I inhale that scent that's uniquely Anna, willing the darkness away.

Anna's so strong, and she holds me together. I care about her, so much, and I'd do anything for her, but I can't help but wonder what would she say if I were to try and verbalize these things in my head; these feelings about Belle, about her, about us.

I hope she'll forgive me.

"Elsa," comes her voice, heavy with sleep, and I stiffen in surprise, "whassamatter?"

"It's nothing." Brushing her hair from her face, I smile at how unruly it's gotten. "Go back to sleep."

"Nnnh." Anna's breathing evens out again, but her arms are tight around me. Everything – the warmth of her embrace, the cool dark of the room, the sudden heaviness of my eyelids – tells me to follow suit.

I want Anna to love me, like I love her, but I don't even know how much of me she knows. I wish she could see me, all of me, the twisted and fucked-up bits I'm afraid to admit, that I entertain in the quiet moments.

But at the same time, I don't want her to. I want her to love the Elsa that faces a world without its axis with a smile. I want her to love the Elsa that she needs me to be.

... God, it's so hard.


End file.
